


Sin

by Emptynarration



Series: Author turns into Host [7]
Category: Youtube RPF, Youtube egos, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Author turns into Host, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Gen, God Complex, Gore, Injury, Old Gods, Self-Harm, Violence, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:54:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24777961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emptynarration/pseuds/Emptynarration
Summary: Author has always craved power, more and more and more.He wanted omnipotence, he wanted to be agod.What this craving attracted, was an old god.All it needed was a sacrifice.
Series: Author turns into Host [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2059644
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote over at tumblr first lol  
> "Sin" was the word prompt

He’s always wanted things. More characters for his stories, more gruesome ways for them to die, and especially more _power_.

Author was never happy with it. He couldn’t do _enough_. He couldn’t change the world, he couldn’t _really_ change time, he couldn’t change the weather just how he liked it. He wanted _more_ , he wanted to be able to do _anything_.  
What he wanted was nothing a human could achieve, but was he human?

_No._

He sought power, _omnipotence_ , no restrictions in what he could do. He wanted unlimited power, so he could change anything and everything. He wanted to be a _god_.  
It was no wonder his greed attracted something, maybe even some _one_. A ghostly voice whispering in his ear, phantom touches guiding his hand.

_Drive them mad. Bring your character into insanity.  
Set monsters on them; shadows brought to life.  
Let them cripple themselves, mutilating themselves._

Author obeyed, the ideas seeping into his head, writing more and more elaborate stories to please this voice. It was promising him things, things he wanted, _needed_ , _**craved**_.

_I can give you anything. Anything you want, I’ll gift it to you. Infinite knowledge. Whatever you want, you will have it.  
Only listen to me._

“What do I have to do? What do you want from me?”, Author wanted it, he wanted _everything_ , and this being was promising it to him.  
_Give me something you love. Something that is personal to you. Something you cannot live without_.  
It was a request Author didn’t know how to fulfill. He didn’t love anything. He didn’t _care_ about anything. The only thing was his work, his writing, what he was made to do. But he would never - _could_ never- give that up, sacrifice that.

He felt the ghostly touch, hands gliding over his skin, like someone was standing behind him. Running along his temples, tracing his jaw, holding his head -tilting it backwards, making him look up. But there was nothing to see.  
_Give me something you need.  
_The voice was whispering right into his ear, Author could _feel_ the breath against his skin, making him shudder. Cold.  
_Give me something you cannot do your work with_ _without._  
Author could feel a body press against his own, but he knew there was nothing there. He was alone, with himself. And this being.  
_Give me_ blood _. Give me_ your body _. Give it to me, and you’ll get my power_.

Author stumbled forward, escaping the cold hold of the entity, hugging himself and taking shuddering breaths. He looked behind him, to see nothing there. Nothing but the room.  
He shook his head, steeling himself. He wasn’t sure what the entity was asking for. What part of his body did he need to work? His gaze fell to his hands, but immediately he recoiled from the idea.  
He would _not_ chop off his hands, even for unlimited power.

He let himself get distracted with work, sitting at his desk and writing. He didn’t need to worry about it immediately. He could do something else first, he could think more clearly when he was calmed down.

And he got the idea while writing. A part of his body he needed to work. Something he never thought he could live without. Something that would make him bleed. But if he had unlimited power, did he _really_ need it?  
He finished his work, before standing. He didn’t really need anything more than a knife. His first choice was of course something to inflict pain with, even if it was on himself.

Gathering a kitchen-knife, Author decided he didn’t need to go anywhere else. He sat down at the little table, and he could feel it. The stare, being watched, something behind him. He knew there was nothing there. He knew the being was there.  
He felt its hands over his neck, sliding over his skin, tilting his head up again. Just slightly. He knew it was going to watch. It was going to watch him mutilate himself, to see if it was satisfying enough for it.

He set the tip of the knife slowly to the bottom of his right eye, feeling the cold metal when it forced him to blink.  
With a deep breath, he pushed the knife into his eye, trying to get it beneath it, unable to keep the pained sound from leaving him. It hurt. He could feel blood, the knife slicing through his skin. Hot like tears, trailing down his cheek.  
His hands were shaking, but he kept going, cutting around his eyeball, slicing it up in the process.  
He nearly dropped the knife when he had gotten around it, but he managed to lay it onto the table, and instead shove his fingers into his socket with a pained sob.

Fingers digging at the mushy bloody eyeball, clawing it out, tears and blood running down their respective cheeks. He had to do this. He would give his eyes and his sight for omnipotence. He wouldn’t need his sight once he had it.  
He tugged, and he pulled, and he cried out when he ripped the nerve off. And he would’ve fallen forwards, if the being didn’t have his head in its hands. The touch so cold, no blood staining its invisible hands, even though Author could feel them there.  
He felt faint, he felt dizzy, and he felt _sick_.

 _Keep going. Give it to me. Take your sight for me.  
_The voice murmured into his ear, its grip tightening on his jaw, forcing him to stay where he was, to do as it told him to do.  
So Author grabbed the knife again, blood flowing from his empty socket, part of the nerve laying on his cheek. His hands were shaking, and he knew he couldn’t stop that. He cut off the nerve as best as he could inside the socket, breathing stuttering and laboured. He could taste his own blood.

With far less grace and much less careful, he shoved the knife into his other eye, sobbing in pain, blood mixing with his tears. He cut, uncaring how he did it, only feeling pain. He was dizzy, he was nauseous, but he kept going.  
Staining his other hand in blood and mucus, ripping out the remains of his eye, cutting the nerve off instead of ripping.

Finally he dropped the knife, escaping the being’s grasp as he stood, knocking his chair over, stumbling blindly with his head swimming until he grasped the counter, blood soaked into his shirt, into his pants, feeling like it was seeping through his skin.  
He threw up into the sink, his whole body shaking, nearly unable to comprehend what he had done. He’s cut out his eyes. He’s blinded himself. He couldn’t stop the retching, until his stomach was empty, and all he could taste was bile and _blood_.

He was ready to pass out, but he could feel it. The ice-cold touch of the entity’s hands, wrapping around his throat, arms around his middle, hands covering his empty sockets.  
_Good pet. Soon. Soon you’ll have what you want.  
_He was forced to walk, stumbling and tripping, being held up by the being, guided through his cabin to his bed -rarely used, but there. He collapsed immediately onto it, when the touch left him, weakly curling up, feeling blood continuously run down his cheeks. His whole being hurt, as if he had done more than take his eyes.

 _Soon you will be_ mine _…_

Author passed out, the blood-loss too much for him.  
The being invading his mind, taking over, flooding this feeble human mind with the omniscience of this old god. It would destroy Author’s mind, too small and too weak that it wouldn’t be able to comprehend this knowledge.  
At least that was what The Host was used to, inside a human vessel.

_(to be continued?)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation whenever I write it lolll


	2. Chapter 2

When Host woke up, it was dark.

His head was throbbing, as he raised his hand to gingerly touch his face. Dried blood and mucus covered his face, thick like a mask. When his fingers found his eyes, fresh pain bloomed beneath his touch, fingers like knives to the fresh wounds.  
There were clear cuts all around his sockets, and he knew they were going to scar. Sloppy work done by shaking hands -nothing else to be expected, of course.

His face split into a smile, skin stretching beneath the crust of grime.

He slowly sat up, swinging his legs over the edge. Carefully standing, swaying a bit at first, before finding his footing. It’s been a while since he’s last had a body -he had to get used to it first. He stretched out his arms and fingers, before taking his first steps.  
First of all, get his face cleaned up. Who could work like this, after all? He rubbed at his skin, flaking off blood and clots, uncaring if it landed on the ground. His shirt was hard from the blood that had soaked into it, and he could feel the blood that had dried on his pants.

He found his way to the bathroom, turning on the water. He let it get hot for a while, before he began scrubbing at his face, uncaring about the pain that caused. Grabbing a towel once he had the worst of it off, using it to continue washing his face. The rough towel hurt his tender skin, but that was of no concern.  
Once his face was clean, he dropped the towel in the sink, crouching down instead to search for the first aid kit. Blood was still trailing down his cheeks, but that was fine. They likely wouldn’t stop -at least he could bandage his eyes and make sure it’d be fine then.

He made a sound when he found the bandages and gauze, standing up again and wrapping his eyes in them tightly. Good. Body taken care of for the time being, he took a deep breath. The bloodloss was still weighing his head down, but did he care? Truthfully, not a lot.

“The Host takes in his surroundings, listening to the narrations describing the bathroom of the shabby cabin.”, his voice was rough, and he cleared his throat. He needed something to drink, he decided.

“Carefully, the Host turned, exiting the room. He could feel his powers slowly wrapping around his vessel as he made his way to the kitchen, reality adjusting to its new host.”, he narrated as he walked, floorboards creaking beneath his weight. He was still getting adjusted to having a body again, but he could feel his powers right at this fingertips.  
Every sound was loud in his ears, hearing the outside world as clear as if he were there. The wind blowing, the sound of animals, the forest.

He didn’t need to look through the kitchen to know what there was. There was a variety of teas, and coffee. He opted for the former, setting a kettle to boil and grabbing a mug, setting the teabag inside. He’d have to get some proper tea, though that wasn’t surprising. Most didn’t carry proper tea.  
He could feel blood running down his cheeks, and he let it. He was still in ruined clothes, but he had better things to do, right now. And clothes could be fixed at any time -he had all the time in the world, after all.

The kettle going off made him grimace, quick to pick it up and pour the water into his mug. He hated loud sounds, grating on his human ears, adding to the pain behind his eyes. Having a human body wasn’t easy, and definitely not easy to adjust to. Especially since it’s been a few decades since his last vessel.  
Adding honey and a spoon to his tea, he left the kitchen. He had to get his desk cleaned up and get some new things here. He was a host, after all.

-

During the next few days, Host got used to his human vessel. Not being operated by a human made the body’s needs a little “slower”, so to say, especially since Host wasn’t the best at remembering his vessel needed food and water to stay alive.  
What he truly didn’t expect was the headaches, after a couple of weeks. He _never_ got headaches -why would he, after all? It bothered him though, that there was _something_ wrong. And he didn’t know _what_.

He knew _everything_. He knew everything there was to know, everything about his own reality, everything about _other_ realities. He could know about anything and everything he cared to know about.  
But he didn’t know what was wrong with himself, now. And it was more than infuriating, especially because the headaches got worse.

~

 _He knew he was there. Locked away, a passenger in his own body. How it infuriated him, anger boiling in his veins -but no way to let it out, to feel it for himself. He wasn’t the pilot -he was just able to watch, and he hated it, and he_ fought. _He fought for his own body, because he was only a sliver of consciousness now, and that wouldn’t do._

 _But he was struggling against the immense_ power _that had taken over his body and mind, but he was adjusting. He had been able to change reality with just a few written words, and while he hadn’t been able to change_ everything _like he wanted, he’d still been powerful.  
Now he was just _more _powerful. And while that meant having a god possess his body, that didn’t mean Author didn’t believe himself stronger than that. Clearly this god hadn’t thought Author would fight back, because he could_ feel _his body, even if he couldn’t use it._

 _He had no sense of time, but it felt like an eternity until he had managed to use his anger and manifest it into something else. Until he could be just like the voice had been before, the ghostly touch of the god. And he’d fight himself if he had to_.

~

Host startled when he felt hands wrap around his neck and squeezing. There was no one there, and he’s come to terms with his headaches -they’ve been going for a good while now, so he was used to them- but this is a clear sign of who it is.  
 _Give me back my body_.  
Host could hear the snarl in Author’s voice, echoing through his mind, and all he did in turn was smirk. “Author made a deal. He was promised knowledge and abilities, and he gained them by becoming the Host.”.  
Author scoffed, squeezing harder, but Host knew he couldn’t be killed by the other. It was Author’s body as well, after all, and Author was only an entity of mind.

 _Fuck that. You lying piece of shit promised me power, and not pushing me into a fucking bubble in my own head!  
_ Host laughed, though it was cut short by Author choking him. He could almost imagine he could see the fiery golden glare of Author’s eyes. But with how strong Author was with his touches, Host worried he might be able to really injure him.  
“This is Author’s body as well, you can’t kill the Host.”, Host growled lowly, voice a bit strained as he was chocked. Author snarled in return, very much pissed.  
 _If I have to endure half-consciousness and having my body stolen, good fucking luck. We’ll both die then_.

And Author seemed pretty determined with that. Host couldn’t get any air as Author squeezed his throat shut with both of his hands, and Host could do _nothing_ but take it. He sure as hell didn’t want to give Author control back, and Author sure as hell wouldn’t let himself be locked away like he was.

Host’s thoughts became blurry, head swimming, and he knew the lack of oxygen was making his body panic. Not a good thing, but as long as he was conscious, Author would choke him until they died.  
The question was, would they die? If he lost consciousness, Author would as well, and then he couldn’t continue choking him. He couldn’t seriously kill them both -but what if he _could?_ Author seemed perfectly content to kill the both of them.

 _Change your mind yet or are you letting us die?_  
Author wouldn’t choose death if he could avoid it, truthfully, but he wasn’t above trying anyways. He wasn’t letting Host take and use his body willy-nilly without his consent. And while he had indeed made a deal, he had been tricked.  
Host’s answer to that was a very loud and clear thought that was “Fuck you”. And so Author did what he did best, and that was murder. Even if he happened to kill himself along with it as well. He didn’t grow weaker even as their consciousness was beginning to waver.

-

When Host regained consciousness, he groaned, rubbing his bandaged eyes. His neck hurt, as did breathing, but he was very much still alive. Seemed like Author _couldn’t_ kill him then, which he was certainly glad about. He didn’t fancy losing his vessel like that -though he couldn’t deny Author’s strength. Being able to sustain infinite knowledge without breaking apart? Host considered that quite strong.

He had slid down the wall he had been pressed against when he had fallen unconscious, so now he carefully stood up again.  
 _Fucking asshole. Can’t even get rid of you!  
_ Host was a little startled when he heard Author again, not having expected him to pop up again. Well, this was a predicament.  
“Author could just shut up and live with it.”, Host scoffed, straightening out his coat and bandages. He could practically feel Author imitating his words in a mocking way.

 _I’m not really living right now you piece of shit.  
_ Host snorted, shaking his head. Well, he’d be stuck with Author then, he supposed. Author had no awareness of the world, though he knew what his body was doing. He’d get bored eventually, and just give up. Right?

-

Very wrong, as it turned out.

Author was more than happy to _annoy the shit out of Host_. The man was _constantly talking_ , having decided since he couldn’t write his damn novels, he’d _narrate them_. And _god_ was he annoying.  
He was changing his mind over and over again, repeating the same five sentences over and over, changing this or that, and _god fucking dammit make up your damn mind_.  
But Author had all the time in the world, now that he had nothing better to do but talk, and annoy Host. No needs, no nothing. Only quiet when Host was asleep.

And Host could do jack shit while Author was talking. He couldn’t do his radio show when there was some asshole speaking in his head _constantly_ , and even _sleeping_ was becoming a nightmare. Author kept him awake, and it was horrible.

“ _Fine!_ ”, Host slammed his hands down on the table, face in an angry grimace. He could _feel_ Author’s satisfied smirk, making him growl angrily.  
“What does Author _want_ , huh?”, he asked, aggravated, angry, every nerve on fire with the _constant_ talking and singing and humming Author was subjecting him to.  
 _Take a wild fucking guess, asshole.  
_ “The Host will not leave this body just to give it back to Author.”, Host growled, getting a short laugh in reply.  
 _Then Host will have to deal with me, huh?  
_ Host growled in turn, more than annoyed with Author. He didn’t want to deal with Author’s bullshit further, it was more than annoying.

“They will _share_.”, Host settled on, taking a deep breath and sitting down again, “They will share this body. Author is the Host now, as much as he dislikes that, because he is _hosting_ **me**. They will both be able to control and use the body, be aware of each other’s actions and alike.”.  
Author was quiet, probably thinking it over. But, was there anything else he could do? He was just a consciousness trapped in his own body, pushed aside by another, and unable to do anything but be aware of the other consciousness.

 _Deal_.


End file.
